Promise
by ShaedowCat
Summary: [TSS'V] Sam's falling apart, and Dean uses three words to help him. Schmoopy schmoopiness, with a sideorder of schmoop.


**Title: **Promise  
**Author: **ShaedowCat  
**Beta:** Forget Beta, this should be co-writer...therefore...**Co-Writer:** Sammy girl at heart. Thanks for all your lovely lovely writing and hand-holding...you made this fic a possibility!**  
Characters: **Sam, Dean  
**Pairing: **None  
**Rating: **PG / K  
**Genre: **Supernatural  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own them. If you don't understand that, take some English lessons.  
**Feedback: **Muchly appreciated.  
**Summary: **Sam's falling apart, and Dean uses three words to help him. Schmoop.  
**Warning: **Schmoop. But be aware that I have a very strange definition of "schmoop"...  
**Notes: **Welcome to Teh Spuffyshipper Schmoop 'Verse! Now, this isn't technically schmoop, per se...but it includes the words "I love you", so to me, it is schmoop, because I don't believe the Winchesters would ever utter the words "I love you" unless one or all of them were dying...and even then it would be very, very difficult to say...but that is not the point! It was requested, and by a loyal reviewer, and by gods I promised I'd write it!  
And I did. With help...but I did. Gods, this thing was enabled like you have no idea...  
Hope you like it, _Spuffyshipper_!

* * *

He was on edge. His heart was racing...hell, his hands were trembling and his knees were shaking, too. He needed to rest...he needed to sleep, to let go for an hour or twelve...but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Because he knew what he'd see when he closed his eyes.

He'd see his brother, lying on the floor, at the wrong end of a pistol held in his own hand. He'd see his brother, tied to a tree, a sacrifice to a demented scarecrow. He'd see his brother, lying on the cold hard ground in a puddle of water, electrocuted by 100 000 volts. He'd see his brother, lying in a hospital bed, telling him to drive away and leave him to die. He'd see...

Sam's eyes snapped open and he surged to his feet. _No, no, no! _he screamed at himself. He began to pace furiously, trying to keep the images from coming back. As long as he was awake, as long as his eyes weren't closed, he wouldn't see.

It'd been three days since Dean had been healed by Roy _the Reaper_. They'd just passed over the Nebraska state-line into Iowa...they'd been driving non-stop every day since, on their way to a gig in Casper, and had crashed at the Lay-Z Roadside Inn. Dean had gone out to get supplies, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

It was all his fault. From shooting his brother back in Rockford to this latest fiasco with the Reaper, he was to blame: him, Sam. He'd screwed up...and to be perfectly honest, he really couldn't fault Dean for hating him.

Because Dean had to hate him. Look what he'd done: he'd shot him, left him for dead, and killed a man so he could live. Dean had been quiet ever since they'd left Roy's church, withdrawn, talking only a little to Sam...and the only reason Sam could think of for that was that Dean hated him.

Just then he saw the doorknob turn and he knew Dean was back. He collapsed onto his bed, grabbed the remote control and began flipping through the channels just as his brother walked in with a bag of supplies from the all-night grocery store down the street.

"Hey dude, I thought you'd be asleep by now," Dean said, tossing him a bottle of water as he set the bags down on his own bed.

"Yeah, I found that George Foreman was far more interesting then counting sheep," Sam replied as he caught the bottle.

Dean eyed his brother. The kid looked like crap. Dean knew that he wasn't sleeping, knew for a fact that he'd barely slept in ten days - not since before he was sick - and it was really taking a toll on younger man. He wanted to help him, to let him know that he was okay, that he wasn't going anywhere, that he'd always be there for him, but he couldn't. He just couldn't seem to get the words out. Instead he just kept asking the same question over and over.

"Hey Sammy, you all right?"

"Yeah Dean, I'm fine."

It was always the same response.

-:-

An hour passed and the guy selling the 50s music soundtracks just couldn't keep Dean's attention any longer. He shifted to a more comfortable position and began to drift off to sleep, noting absently that Sam hadn't moved from when he'd turned on his side about half an hour ago. He wasn't asleep - Dean could tell from the pattern of his breathing - but at least he was trying to get some rest. Dean watched for a minute longer, but Sam seemed content for the moment, so he let himself succumb to a much needed slumber.

But Sam wasn't even close to sleeping. He stared unblinkingly at the wall, his back to Dean. He was sure that if he kept this up he would go crazy, but what choice did he have? At least this was better than the alternative. Sighing, he forced himself to concentrate on the 50s music being played on the TV, focussing on that instead of his body's urging to close his eyes and go to sleep.

Three hours later found Sam staring blankly at the ceiling. He'd turned the television off about an hour ago so that it wouldn't wake Dean. He looked over at the clock: 3:14 am. In a couple more hours he could legitimately wake Dean up and insist that it was time they get back on the road...but what to do in those few hours?

He got up and headed quietly over toward the bathroom, tripping over a discarded book that he had gently tossed to the ground earlier, and he glanced quickly over at Dean's bed, looking for any signs of movement. As far as he could tell Dean was still asleep, so he continued to the bathroom. As he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, he didn't hear the faint rustling of sheets coming from his brother's bed.

-:-

Dean awoke to the sound of his little brother walking quietly across the room before tripping over something heavy.

_Real stealthy, Sammy, _he thought drowsily before glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 3:15 am. Great, three hours of sleep.

He wondered if his brother even realized what today was. He hadn't even realised himself until the night before: the prospect of imminent death tended to drive thoughts of birthdays from a person's mind. Nevertheless, he'd caught sight of a calendar at the store the night before, and that date - May 1st - had made him realize that his younger brother was now twenty-three.

He quietly lay in bed and waited as his brother finished what he was doing in the bathroom before sneaking back across the floor and settled back onto his own bed. There was a faint rustling as Sam attempted to get comfortable, the sounds stopping as he did just that. Dean debated whether or not to wish him a happy birthday now, or wait until a more civilised hour.

Sam's mind was racing with a million thoughts all at once - Dean hating him, Dean leaving, Dean dying - and if they didn't stop soon, he was fairly certain his head would implode.

Dean casually turned his head towards his brother, looking at him through slitted eyes. The miserable look on his brother's face sent a shock of dismay through him, and he immediately abandoned the facade of sleep, opening his eyes and yawning widely.

"Hey Sam," he said casually. "What're you doing up?" He watched as Sam attempted to mask his sadness; the younger man only partly succeeded.

"Oh, hey," Sam replied. "I, uh...I just, y'know...couldn't sleep. I...sorry if I woke you up."

"Nah, it's okay," he replied, swinging himself around so he was sitting on the edge of his bed. "I was already kind of awake." He hesitated for a moment, then continued. "So, I was thinking...do you know what day it is?" Sam frowned.

"Uh...Tuesday?" he asked, confused. What was Dean talking about? His brother chuckled.

"Yeah, that too," he admitted. "But it's also...well...happy birthday, Sammy."

Over on his own bed, Sam choked. It was his _birthday_? God, didn't _that_ just add to the insanity of it all? He took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh, wondering how exactly his life had gotten so screwed up.

-:-

Dean heard Sam choke, then let out a deep sigh that seemed to scream a million words. Dean wanted to scream himself. Sam was obviously still upset over him nearly dying...still worried that he might not be okay, that he might...get sick. The problem was, dean didn't know how to reassure him otherwise. He didn't know if he could bring himself to say it out loud; what if he made things worse?

He looked at his younger brother, saw the paleness, the dark circles under his eyes.

Oh screw it.

Dean got to his feet, crossed the space between his and Sam's beds, and crouched down in front of him. "Listen, kid," he began, grabbing Sam's shoulders and forcing him to sit up, look him in the eyes. "And listen closely, 'cause I'm only going to say this once. No matter what you think, I'm always going to be here."

"But - " Sam began, but Dean cut him off.

"No...no buts, no interruptions. Just listen. This, what you're doing...it's gotta stop. And don't sit there like I don't know what's been going on. You think I don't notice that you stay awake all night, every night? That I don't see how you're tossing and turning in the few minutes that you actually do get to sleep? Or that I haven't noticed that this has only begun since I almost died? I know that I'm part of the reason that you stay up night after night. But hear this, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere. As long as you need me, I'll be here. What happened back with that Rawhead, it was a fluke, a rarity. That's never gonna happen again."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, confused. "I thought..."

"What?"

"I...I thought you hated me..."

Dean stared at him in shock.

"Hate you? Why the hell would I hate you?" he demanded. Sam stared at him for a moment, then hung his head.

"For...for what happened in Rockford," he said quietly. "For shooting you. For leaving you to go to Indiana by yourself. For letting you deal with the Rawhead alone. For..." Tears began to track down his cheeks, "...for the Reaper..."

"What?" Dean asked again. "Is this...is this what this is all about? You think I _hate_ you?"

Sam sniffed and nodded, tears slowly making their way down his face, dripping from his chin. "Most of it," he admitted softly. "Some of the other stuff, too." Dean sighed, then reached out and placed his fingers under Sam's chin, forcing his brother to look up, to look at him.

"Sam, I don't hate you. Okay? I don't."

"But..." Sam began.

"No...like I said before, no buts. Sam, I've never hated you. There have been times when I haven't particularly _liked_ you all that much, but I have never, _ever_ hated you." Dean laughed and shook his head slightly. "Man, I _love_ you. Okay?" Startled, Sam met his brother's eyes square on, and saw caring and sincerity there. "So all this...this worrying. That I hate you...that I'm gonna leave, or die...you've got to stop it, okay? You got me?" There was a moment in which neither of them moved, or spoke, and then Sam nodded slowly.

"Yeah…yeah, I got you Dean," he replied huskily, brushing away his tears.

"Good, 'cause you're stuck with me for a long time, kiddo. There ain't no way I'm letting you get my car any time soon."

Sam laughed through the freshly fallen tears and nodded. He felt Dean's hands squeeze his shoulders a little more tightly, then he froze as he felt his body get pulled into a hug. After a moment, however, he gave into the embrace and hugged his brother back.

"Now promise me something, Sammy," Dean said, pulling back from the oddly comforting embrace, "Promise me that you won't dwell on this. Promise me that you know that I love you and that I will never leave, no matter what happens. I'm with you until the end."

"I promise," he whispered through a throat gone tight. Dean nodded and pulled him back into the hug.

"That's my boy," Dean murmured, then he slowly pulled out of the hug once more and pushed Sam gently, making him lie back down. "Now go to sleep, or I swear to God I'll kick your ass." But Sam had already closed his eyes, and was drifting off. Dean stared at Sam for a moment, and then tucked in the sheets around him.

"Goodnight, little brother."

* * *

HOMFG.

-:praise jebus:-

It is _done._ Yippee!

I hope you like it, Spuffyshipper...as stated above, this is the combined efforts of myself and my amazing co-writer, _Sammy girl at heart_, another brilliant writer here on ShaedowCat xox O.o -:is dazed:-

p.s. And, for the record...

-:-

**RIP**

Brain Cells of _Sammy girl at heart_ & _ShaedowCat_

Dearly departed victims of Schmoop

You will be sadly missed.

-:-

I swear to god, half my brain cells (and 99 per cent of _Sgah_'s...: P) died in the production of this fic. This ficlet was one long-ass slog, I tell you true, and many brain cells were sacrificed for Teh Schmoop...so light a candle for them in passing. They did good.

luv SC xox o.O -:dazed-er:-


End file.
